Mickey's Eleven
by AlyssaFish
Summary: To pull off the perfect crime, Mickey Mouse needs to assemble the finest team of...the smartest minds in the...the greatest fighters in the...the least incompetent people he can fi....the.....the........right, so he needs a bunch of guys.
1. Over and InBetween

I think I started writing this last summer, right after I watched _Ocean's Eleven_ for the first time, but for some reason I just lost interest. I just recently re-read it. It's really wordy at parts, and there's some godawful sentence structure, but it made me laugh. So hard. I hope you do too, because I think I might just have to take a stab at continuing this stupid thing…

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Mickey and Pete have never been on the best of terms ever since that incident with the Steamboat some odd years ago. Now, Pete's rolling in munny and Mickey is returning from the pits of Kingdom Hearts to find his world in chaos. To stop the relentless waves of Heartless from tearing the universe to shreds, Mickey needs to jam a monkey wrench into Pete's operations, which means undermining the main source of Pete's slush fund. With the gates of Kingdom Hearts locked shut and the powers of darkness watching from every shadow, only the best will do...

**Mickey's Eleven**

(a perfect crime in eleven parts)

Negative One

Some people sleep at night and other people wake up. They stayed up to walk into darkness, only to find it lit up a million times brighter than Traverse Town ever was. The lights were brighter, brilliant whites and yellows with neon in every color outlining the buildings and luring people like honey to forget their lost worlds and worries and loose themselves in whichever way they liked best, if they could afford it. The brighter the light, the darker the shadows, and Pete made sure that there was just enough light.

His little project, the Cave of Wonders Casino sat in the middle of it all, snugly tucked into Hollow Bastian's metropolis. Maleficent encouraged the growth of big businesses in the city, assuring the citizens that tourism alone would help to stimulate the economy, and generously offered land to many promising entrepreneurs. Captain Hook planted his pirate ship and made it into a club. Hades owned a string of restaurants and was renowned for his barbeque. Clayton cleared out miles of cobblestones and buildings to build a hunting reserve. Oogie Boogie tried to muscle in on Pete's turf with his own casinos, but business slowed down once people realized that they were haunted and nasty things tended to happen at the slots if certain combinations such as _ax_,_ skull_,_ pumpkinhead_ came up.

Hallow Bastian turned into a neon jungle, and every year its residents were pushed farther and farther away from the metal castle that loomed over the horizon, a ring of darkness in the middle of the glowing city. On the fringes of the metropolis lived the people too stubborn or too poor to leave for another world. By day, they looked shabby and rotten next to the sparkling hotels, but as dusk fell, streetlamps were lit and candles flickered in the windows. If you stood far enough away from the city, you could see them, orange pinpricks in a sea of darkness.

Far away, a dark shadow strutted through the mountains, drawn to the candles, the guiding stars.

For some people don't sleep at all.


	2. The Quack Pack

Zero

Mickey never did anything halfway. When he walked down the cobblestone streets on the outskirts of the Hallow Bastian, he walked like he belonged there. Dressed in black trimmed in silver fastenings, a hood drawn over his large ears and an odd weapon slung over his shoulder, he wasn't the strangest thing to have walked down those streets, nor the tallest, but people paid attention when he spoke to them.

"Hiya, fellas," he said, dropping some money on the counter of the Duck Triplet's item shop. "I'm lookin' for an old friend of mine. Do you know where a man named Leon is living now?"

All three ducks suddenly leaned over the counter.

"Shhhhhh!" they spluttered.

Huey looked down the right street, Dewey looked to the left, and Louie checked the rooftops. The three sheepishly ducked back under the safety of their tent. Huey beckoned Mickey to lean in closer.

"Be careful who you talk to, your Majesty," he muttered into one of Mickey's ears. "Mr. Leonhart's not someone Maleficent wants people to discuss."

"I see," Mickey said, rubbing his chin. "All right, just give me three potions then."

Huey, Dewey, and Louie exchanged glances, then ducked their heads together as they huddled and whispered and argued. Finally, they each nodded and disappeared into the back to package the King's order in a small, white paper bag.

"Here you go, your Majesty," Louie said, handing it over the counter.

Mickey took the bag, feeling its weight. He took a peek inside and smiled.

"Thank you very much."

"Have a nice trip," Huey said, waving.

"I sure will. Say hi to your uncle for me," Mickey called over his shoulder as he disappeared around a corner.


	3. Bedknobs and No Broomsticks

One

The marketplace was as quiet as it could be around midday. This only meant that no brawls or mobs had broken out and business was at its peak. It was the best place to come if you needed to make munny fast and were particularly good at making people see things that they didn't know were there. It was close enough to the city for tourists who considered themselves well-cultured to come and browse through the small, gaudy gift shops or poke their heads inside the bar, aiming to return home with good stories to tell. Crowded as it was, there was still room for benches where people could sit and eat their lunches while gawking and pointing at how rough things were.

A man with a long scar running down between his eyes was standing on a high platform of rusty pipes and broken machinery in the middle of the marketplace, bent over with his hands and head locked between two heavy, wooden boards held up on a pike. He was used to the crowds that pushed their way through the square around this time of day, so he didn't pay any particular attention to the small, black figure leaning up against one of the pipes, intently studying an out-of-date map.

"Ya get stuck behind a door for a few years and everything changes," Mickey sighed, crumpling up the map and throwing it away.

Leon carefully turned his head and Mickey looked up. A little worse for wear, Leon's clothes were rumpled and heavy stubble had taken over most of the lower half of his face. His hair was rough and uneven, like it had all been shaved off at one point and then allowed to grow back without the help of a comb. From the ground Mickey could see a heart-shaped symbol branded on one of Leon's bare palms. He was bruised and battered, but there was something distinctly lionish about the way he met the King's eyes.

Mickey jumped in a way that would have put Tigger to shame and drew his long weapon, smacking the head of the keyblade against the lock. It sprang open and slipped from the two metal rings, letting Leon shrug his way out.

"Catch!" Mickey tossed Leon a small green bottle.

Leon read the label, then screwed off the top, bringing the bottle to his mouth and greedily chugging down every drop of the potion. His body went numb and he forgot that his limbs were sore, his stomach was empty, and his muscles were knotted with tension. He felt like he could run until his legs fell off.

"Good to see you, pal!" Mickey said, grabbing Leon's hand and forcing the man to bend over as he shook it.

"Your Majesty," Leon said with a nod.

People started to scream and the two looked up to find Heartless crawling into the square, their round yellow eyes looking to the pillory.

"Uh-oh," Mickey said cheerfully, giving the keyblade an experimental swing. "Looks like trouble. Oh! Almost forgot…"

Mickey reached into his robes and pulled out the white paper bag. Leon took it and looked inside.

"I guess it'll do," he said, pulling out the revolver.

If the Heartless made people scramble, the gunshot made them run. Mickey charged straight into the shadowy army while Leon hung back, carefully choosing which ones he would use a precious bullet on. When the Fat Bodies showed up, he stopped shooting and just started waving it around. People parted like the sea to get out of the way of the frightening-looking man with the gun and the mouse who actually had nothing remotely frightening about him except for the rather sharp key he was wielding like a chainsaw.

"It wasn't easy getting here, you know," Mickey said conversationally over his shoulder as he led Leon through the winding alleys. "My Gummi ship got crushed, so I had to improvise."

Mickey took a sharp turn into a dark alley and rolled a few trash cans aside, jumping on top of a brass bed innocently hidden with a pile of junk in the corner. Now Leon was more than willing to trust the king with his life, but the sight of his Majesty making himself comfortable on top of a mattress while a gathering army of Heartless were in hot pursuit of them made him stop short. Spending the past month exposed to the elements and helpless in front of many a wandering tourist had not put Leon in the best state of mind for serious inquiry, so by the time he had figured out an appropriate question and was slowly opening his mouth to speak, Mickey's eyes widened and he was pointing.

"Look out behind you!"

Leon whipped around and fired his last bullet, dropping the gun and diving for the bed. Mickey tapped one of the bed knobs three times and gave it a quick twist to the left. The bed started to shake violently.

"Hold on tight!"

Leon grabbed hold of the rattling brass pipes on the headboard and tucked his knees to his chest, his eyes itching as gold sparks ran up and down the mattress. The bed gave a lurch and the Hallow Bastian dissolved into a blinding red haze. Leon wondered if he'd finally lost his mind. Before he could get any further in his psychological analysis, the bed took a nose dive and the Hallow Bastian burst into focus again. There was an interesting screeching noise as the bed skidded across the pavement and came to a bucking stop that nearly threw its passengers off the mattress.

"Well, what do you know, I think I'm getting the hang of it!" Mickey jumped off and briskly dusted his robes.

Leon slowly stood up, holding his head and wishing the world would stop spinning. If the Heartless didn't get to him first, then that trip had just shaved a few minutes off his life. He could just barely make out the door to Merlin's house. It swung open to reveal a large man in the doorway.

"All right, you little gummi-pinching sneaks!" he exploded, drawing one arm back to ready a large spear for throwing. "I'm not so old as I don't notice when a goddamn Heffelump is crashing around outside my front do…"

Cid stopped. He looked from Leon, to the bed, Mickey, then back to the bed.

"What in the name of Dante's seven HELLS is that?!"

"Well, it's a bed, obviously," Mickey explained, giving the railing a fond pat. "I ran into an old friend of mine in Traverse Town who enchanted one of the knobs for me so it'll take me wherever I tell it to. It's real simple, and on top of that energy-efficient and safe for the environment! All you have to do is…"

Cid had become very red in the face and looked like he wanted to give Mickey his opinion about shoddy forms of transportation that depended on magical bed knobs, but he just shook his head and waved his hands to interrupt the King.

"All right, all right! If you want to risk getting separated from some of your internal organs that's _fine_. Just don't stand out here with your drawers hanging out for the whole goddamn world to see!"

"I think he wants us to go inside," Leon said to Mickey.

"Damn right I do," Cid said, thumbing his nose and swaggering over to the bed. "Merlin's got a lot of privacy over here, but you can never be sure who's watching."

Leon and the King went inside while Cid got to work on pulling the bed inside, the brass legs screeching loudly in protest.

When Cid's Gummi Garage had been shut down and bulldozed to make room for Ursula's Lobster House, Merlin, in a fit of good-will and a conversation with Aerith that made him wonder if the Blue Fairy had misfired when she choose the cricket to be Pinocchio's conscience, offered him rent in his house. The house used to be like a cozier version of the Hallow Bastian's now non-existent library, even more so after Belle and several animated household objects had also moved into the attic. The destruction of the library had left Belle unemployed and homeless, and Merlin had just given up on stopping himself from growing soft at that point. The house had whatever was left of Cid's workshop crammed into it in addition to the ever growing pile of spells and banned books Merlin was hoarding. It all worked out, the house was set on fire only twice, and the last Leon knew the only real arguments that ever got out of hand were when something happened to the tea kettle. The fact that the Fairy Godmother was a formidable referee didn't hurt either.

"Ah, Mickey Mouse," She stood up and gave a little bow with her wand. "Always a pleasure, I was beginning to worry. It's good to know your safe, too, Squall."

"It's Leon," corrected the man who had sworn off the S-word before he knew what he was doing.

The Fairy Godmother's cheery eyes narrowed and Leon wished he hadn't. She planted her hands on her hips and gave him a look that told him to please not screw with her for she _knows_ what your name is because she _knows_ _who you are_ and were and who are your friends and how much you loved your parents and _especially_ what you wished for so _don't tell her_ what your name is, young man.

"Leon," she repeated, the name dropping like a pin. "I think you could use some time to freshen up."

"Yes, thank you," Leon said tiredly as he felt a little part of him on the inside die and be replaced by something else that had all the strength and durability of grape jelly.

"Help yourself, Mickey," the Fairy Godmother said, waving her wand and levitating another teacup from the cupboard. She was one of those fairies who used their wands for anything and everything, usually with the assistance of numerous sparkly swirls and clouds. She brought Leon upstairs to introduce him to the bathroom and pine-fresh clothing.

Mickey dusted off his cup and poured himself some tea while, with a grunt, Cid shoved the brass bed into a pile of books. Ignoring the small landslide that he had just launched into Merlin's favorite chair, he plunked himself down in a stool at the table.

"So," he said, scratching his chin in a gruff, manly way and getting to the inevitable interrogation. "What are you doing here in the Hallow Bastian?"

"I just have some business to do," Mickey said, smiling in an infuriatingly vague way while spooning some honey into his tea. "It's kind of silly, actually. It involves apples. I just happened to conveniently bump into Leon on my way through town and figured he was kind of uncomfortable there so I helped him out."

The tea Cid was sipping suddenly shot from his mouth, spraying the table and the mouse sitting at it.

"Just now?"

"Yup."

"In broad daylight?"

"Yep."

"You busted him out?"

"You betcha."

"You mean you just walked right up to him in front of hundreds of witnesses and tore apart the great goddamn pillory?"

"No, I only smashed the lock," Mickey explained.

Cid could only stare, chin trembling like he was a second away from exploding.

"Sir, have you lost your mother-fucking mind?"

"Well, gee, it's not like he's a criminal."

"He's on Maleficent's most wanted list," Cid said grimly. "Listen, you seem like a nice enough guy, but you must've spent the last couple of years in a hole."

"It was an abyss of imperishable darkness and light, actually, but go on."

"Right, well, look here, the Hallow Bastian hasn't been doing so well since Maleficent's been letting all sorts of people muscle their way into town. Whoever's left of us, us as in the denizens who aren't greedy, polluting, money-grubbing, white collar corporate puppy-kicking bastards, formed a committee to restore some of the old city, or at least save whatever's left. After getting laughed out of the castle, we just stopped putting up with their crap and started throwing anything sharp or heavy at whoever showed up with Heartless, blueprints, and an eviction notice. Well, you know Leon, it's not like we asked him or elected him to be our leader or anything, he just steps into a room and things get done, and they don't get done like Merlin trying to build a model Gummi ship with a hammer, nails, and duct tape instead of magic, they get done _right_."

"Yep. That's Leon," Mickey agreed. "He's our man. And he got turned into a scapegoat?"

"Whoa, boy, did he ever. Things turned pretty ugly. That old witch knows how to pick them. People got scared and the whole thing sort of fell apart. It's just me, Merlin, the Godmother, Scrooge, Yuffie, Aerith, the Duck Triplets, Belle, the Beast, Cloud when he pulls his head out of his ass, and…some four other guys who all look the same and I don't their names but…we don't do much, now, without the town's support. I'd say to hell with them all, but there's this shit about Maleficent taking it out on everyone if a few of us start blowing up buildings, so we've just been sitting around on our asses drinking tea and knitting potholders."

Had Cid been looking at Mickey instead of taking another delicate swig from his cup, he would have seen Mickey's metaphoric light bulb of thought blink on.

"I see," said the King, thoughtfully. "So, what you're saying is if the people stopped seeing Maleficent and her enterprises as invincible and believed that they had a shot at taking their city back, they'd be willing to rally together and form another Restoration Committee?"

"Well," Cid said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah."

Mickey Mouse is known for many things, most notably his distinguishable profile, but one of them is the ability to break into wide grins without appearing remotely psychotic to the casual viewer. He stood up on his stool and grabbed one of Cid's hands with both of his, shaking it up and down with strength not usually found in someone shorter than most people's kneecaps.

"Thank you. That's _exactly_ what I wanted to hear."

"Wait a minute, where are you heading off to?" Cid asked as he turned in his seat to watch the mouse scurry across the floor.

Mickey paused in the doorway, lifting one finger and tapping it on the side of his nose.

"Business, remember?" he said. "Oh, and I have to make sure no heartless followed me here and are preparing to seize the house. Bye!"

With a heavy sigh Cid delicately sipped up what was left of his tea, rolled up his sleeves, and started to getting to work on cooking dinner the way he liked it, the good old fashioned way, with spoons and bowls instead of wands and top hats.

"Got to keep your chin up, dear," Mrs. Potts said sleepily.

Several hours later, after having a dinner of crunchy lasagna that tasted faintly of oil and grease, Leon took a much overdue nap. Waking up refreshed and in a good mood, he sat down with Belle in the attic to drink hot chocolate and spent the rest of the evening reading by French candlelight, enjoying the wonderful feeling of his freshly-shaved chin, and doing the thing he loved best: not talking. Belle eventually fell asleep with her head resting on the pages of a dauntingly thick book of gruesome fairy tales. Leon found he wasn't tired at all. He draped a blanket over Belle's shoulders and opened the window, climbing out to sit on the roof. Generally, this wasn't an intelligent thing for a recently escaped convict to be doing, especially since said escaped convict was unarmed and his Lionheart was rotting somewhere next to the Arc of the Covenant in the dankest storage room of the castle, but Leon decided to forgo common sense for the fresh night air and one of the best views in town.

The Hallow Bastian Metropolis blared and blazed in the distance like Disneyland Castle on New Years Eve, except with a great deal more strobe lights and alcohol-induced bellowing.

The king flopped down next to Leon, smelling like smoke and grapes, decked out in a variety of party hats, confetti in every color of the rainbow, and a pair of big, round sunglasses with sequins and rhinestones glued to the frames.

"I've got a plan," he said briskly, flicking the worst of the confetti off his shoulder.

Leon faithfully maintained his silence.

"I've done some scouting," the king continued, pulling a bent notepad out from his cloak pocket and flipping through the wine-stained pages. "And after a careful analysis of our situation, the popularity ratings of the big name establishments, and the flow of munny through the Beagle Boy's banks, I've picked out our target and formulated an appropriate plan of action."

Mickey slapped the end of his chewed pencil to the part of the page that was emphasized with a round, dark circle and many arrows. Leon leaned in closer and squinted to try and make out the other shapes in the dark.

"…we're going to rob the vault of the Cave of Wonders Casino," he said slowly.

"Yup," Mickey triumphantly held the notebook up for anyone who happened to be looking out their window with a flashlight in hand to see.

"Why."

"Pete, the owner, is Maleficent's right hand man. His regular salary pales in comparison to the pocket change he makes off of this place, and Maleficent knows it. They wouldn't admit it, but they both depend on the casino to finance the best of Pete's Heartless forces and personal indulgences. Did you know he owns a condo on every waterside from here to Wonderland? Well, every casino is required to have at least enough money on hand to pay everyone in the house for their winnings. _Everyone_ goes there to gamble. Oogie Boogie sneaks around taking notes. The golden rule of villains is to never trust each other. They expect to be swindled by Pete, but imagine somebody like Jafar comes in to play. Jafar is one of the more respected villains and has a few friends in the enemy of my enemy is a friend way. He has a pretty bad night and looses a lot of munny, but suddenly, what do you know, he wins the jackpot at the slots! He not only just won back the munny he lost that evening, but ten, no, _one hundred times_ that. He goes to collect his munny from Pete, but Pete has no munny to give. What happens next, my cheerful swordsman, is glorious, wonderful chaos. Jafar has been cheated and of course makes a big fuss about it. It escalates until there's going to be a battle between him and Pete, and suddenly the whole Metropolis will be divided over it. Add a few carefully staged acts of mischief and it'll take months for Maleficent to sort out. It's the perfect target. Pete's business will be ruined, he'll be short on money, the Metropolis will be in shambles, and you fellas will be waiting to take advantage of this."

"And you've got a personal vendetta with Pete."

Mickey laughed a little.

"You do realize that I'm one of the most wanted men in this world and you in the entire universe," Leon tapped the scar on his face. "And that together we're going to try to remove the treasure of sultans from one of the most intricate, antipathetic security systems ever conjured by a possessed scarab beetle one dark Arabian night."

"You've got an excellent point," Mickey admitted, flipping to the cleanest page in his notebook. "Leon, you're a swell guy, and there are plenty of people here who want your help. If you don't want to have anything to do with this, I understand."

Leon sighed and stared off into the distance.

"…How many more people will we need?"

"Well, thirteen's already been taken and everything usually falls apart on the stroke of midnight…" Mickey thoughtfully tapped his chin while he thought. "Eleven sounds good. Right. I'll be able to pull this off with eleven people, starting with you and me, pal."

Leon lay back on the roof shingles with his arms folded under his head. He knew in the pit of his gut that his life was about to get much more complicated, but months of doing absolutely nothing had worn down his seemingly impenetrable barrier of patience. Despite himself, he found the idea of getting involved in something rash and compulsive very, very appealing.

---

To be continued…


	4. A Sister Named Desire

Because you guys asked :)

Two

Mickey and Leon sat together at Merlin's kitchen table, hunched over the stained notebook and cradling cups of coffee. To their dismay, this house was filled with early risers. If someone was still asleep by seven, they were presumed to have fallen into a coma or died. Belle had stared at the notebook in horror for a few minutes before Mickey and Leon covered it with their hands.

"If you can make sense of _that_ handwriting," she said, gesturing to the table with the same hand that held her teacup. "You could help me translate some of Merlin's old manuscripts."

She said this very sweetly, hinting that maybe they should find something more productive to do with their time besides bum around the kitchen. Leon sighed, pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, and Belle took her cue to leave.

"This is the list of supplies?" Leon asked, running a finger down the page.

"Just a skeleton," Mickey admitted. "All of this will probably get us through the front door. The problem is we need to get back out, you see."

They sat back and pondered this, making the kind of faces one would expect a person to make while pondering.

"We're going to need munny," Leon said. "Lots and lots of munny."

"Right. How much do you have?"

Silence. Mickey nodded.

"Same here," he said. "That brings our grand total to…"

Mickey drew a large circle in the middle of the paper. He and Leon spent a moment contemplating the goose egg and all things gold and shiny, mostly the noticeable lack thereof on the table. Mickey _hemmed_ and rubbed his chin.

"We," he said, holding up a finger. "Are going to have to find ourselves a _benefactor_."

* * *

Munny really does grow on trees. Or accumulates in honey pots. Or manifests instead of blood when sharp, heavy objects are driven into a heartless creature. You'd think things would be better this way, but it's not. You have to break a lot of pots to find about fifty cents worth of it. Accumulating enough of it to be considered _rich_ is an extremely tedious process that involves a lot of time and the ability to run around for hours without doing things like eating or sleeping. Many have died trying to seek their fortune from ripe-looking garbage cans and couch cushions.

It is by no means any excuse for not going out and getting a job or making wise investments.

Just ask Scrooge McDuck.

"You want _me_ to _lend_ you munny?" Scrooge said in the tone of voice usually only reserved for those who have just been asked to amputate their own leg.

"Uh-huh," Mickey said. "How's about it? A favor for an old friend?"

"Depends on how good of a friend," Scrooge grunted. He said the word _good_ so that it sounded more like _gooot._

Leon and Mickey were currently sharing one side of a round table out on the patio of Scrooge McDuck's mansion. The feathered miser owned a respectable amount of land which he kept bordered with high, barbed wire fences and imported exotic trees with wide, palm leaves and security cameras nestled in with the fruit. The guests had been served tea and coffee, with fat cakes smeared with sugared icing and heaped with juicy, plump berries. The two men had a good view of the sun-drenched garden and the sparkling surface of the backyard pool. They could not see that the pool had been built to look like the dollar sign.

Scrooge polished off the last few crumbs of his cake before asking. "How much are we talking about?" (He said the word _about_ more like _aboot._)

Mickey flipped to a certain page in his notebook and handed it to Scrooge, who adjusted his spectacles as he looked down the length of his beak at the digits inscribed on the paper.

"WHAT?" Scrooge pushed the notebook away in horror like it was about to spring to life and gnaw his eyes out. "Why don't you just pluck all my feathers off and use them for pillow stuffing! Rip of my beak and sell it as a car ornament! Cut out my lungs and use them in…"

Leon took the time to question why he and the King had gone to someone who used to swim in his money.

"What if I told you I could pay you back?" Mickey interrupted as Scrooge got all the way down to his small intestines. "With interest?"

Scrooge sighed, gesturing helplessly with his hands.

"Boys, you're asking the wrong duck. My business is in shambles, but I've got more than enough stored away for me self. No one will ever say that Scrooge McDuck left his boys without two pieces of munny to rub together. Not after the _first_ sea monster ate my ice cream. No, no, no, I've got their college funds all set up andmy funeral is already paid for. Picked out the coffin me-self and everything, got such a good discount on it, too. Snow goes on the ground and suddenly prices drop like a..."

(He pronounced the word _ground_ like it was _grooond_ when he spoke.)

"Say, what did happen to your ice cream parlor again?" Mickey interrupted. "That was some swell dessert you were selling."

Scrooge slapped his palm down on the table, growing very red under his feathers.

"Oh, of course, _you_ weren't here to see it happen!" he said. "While you were tripsying around being king of the universe, my poor, honest little establishment was left to _rot_ when everyone started going to Pete's Ice Cream _Emporium_ instead. Do you know that they use _chemicals_ in their ice cream, to bring out the flavor, and it's the exact same material that they use to make wax candles smell not like wax and like peaches and fresh laundry instead! _That's_ one of their ice cream flavors, in fact, _Freshly Laundered_. People buy it just so they can tell their friends how disgusting it is, I tell you..."

Scrooge continued on, gesticulating wildly to the strapping young duck who was currently cleaning his pool. Mickey and Leon exchanged a meaningful look.

"Well, Mr. McDuck, I'm sorry we wasted so much of your time," Mickey said, standing up and reaching out to shake Scrooge's hand.

"Mm-hmn," Scrooge said, eyeing him suspiciously. "Sorry I couldn't have been more help, Your Majesty."

"We appreciate it," Leon continued. "Thank you for the tea."

"You're very welcome," Scrooge replied. "You could always start taxing us, you know, and take our hard-earned munny _that _way."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," Mickey added hastily as they headed for the door. "Speaking of tea, we're going to have to slip some drugs to Pete's security team at this rate because that's the only way we're going to get out of there alive."

"Why," Scrooge said suddenly. "Would you ever want to do that?"

Mickey turned around.

"What's that?" the King asked.

"That," Scrooge said.

"What?"

"What you just said," Scrooge said.

"What did we just said?" Mickey asked.

"Yes."

"I didn't say anything," Mickey turned to Leon. "Did I say something?"

"I don't know," Leon replied.

"Oh, don't you do this to me," Scrooge picked up his cane and jabbed it in Mickey's direction. "You _said_ something and it was something about Pete."

Mickey looked at Leon, who silently returned the stare.

"Oh, nothin'," Mickey said, waving his hand. "Don't you worry about it, we're just planning on robbing Pete's casino and embarrassing him in front of the entire League of Villains and we don't want you to dirty your feathers by getting too involved."

"We could start whacking flower pots," Leon suggested.

Scrooge threw down his napkin. "LAUNCHPA-AD!

The younger duck who had been cleaning the pool in his swim shorts immediately straightened and snapped into a salute. "Sir!"

"Get your shirt on and fetch me my bank statements!"

* * *

"It's really swell of you guys to stop buy," Launchpad, Scrooge McDuck's personal pilot and pool-chlorinator chatted conversationally as he unlocked the great, steel gates to the metal airplane hanger that was situated somewhere north of the mansion. "Mr. McD doesn't get too many visitors nowadays. To tell you the truth, it gets a little boring up here. The quiet's enough to make you go bouncing off the walls, heheh."

The door opened, letting Mickey and Leon step in with the afternoon light. The hanger was mostly empty, with one, single plane sitting up front. Behind it was an extraordinary amount of empty space, encased by the canvas pulled over the metal frame of the ceiling. Their footsteps echoed as they walked inside.

"So, whaddyou think of the place?" Launchpad asked, sniffing as he raised a feathered finger to scratch his beak.

Mickey started walking across the concrete floor while Leon stood beneath the wing of the plane. He gave a nod of his head up towards it. "This yours?"

"Yep," Launchpad said, proudly. "Isn't she a beauty? I've crashed her fifty six times and she's still managed to stay together. Well, with some repairs, at least. She had six sisters, too, but we had to sell 'em, s'why there's so much empty space in here. What do you boys think of it?"

Mickey started to jump up and down on the floor, testing it with his weight.

"I think the concrete's pretty sturdy," Leon said, wryly.

"Just wait until you fall through it one day," Mickey replied, looking up. "I suppose we'll take it, if he's sure he won't mind us setting up camp here."

"Sure," Lanchpad shrugged, holding out a white envelope, which Leon took and opened, peering at the pieces of paper stuffed within. "So, if you don't mind my askin', what are you boys gonna do with your first paycheck?"

"We're going to Disneyland," Mickey announced.

* * *

The neon lights inside of the bar drenched everything in warm shades of red and yellow. It highlighted the crisp edges of people's glasses and deepened the shadows in the corners of the walls and underneath the tables. The spotlights shone upon the stage which ran through the area where the patrons were sitting. A man sat in the back, wearing a leather jacket and tight jeans, his brown hair falling into his face. He was reclined into one of the plush booths, his feet propped up on the seat of one of the empty chairs around the table. In one hand he nursed a cold bottle of beer and studied the words on the label rather than look at the women and men dancing on stage.

Somewhere out of the crowd, Mickey emerged, carrying his own drink as he approached Leon's lonely table.

"So, which one is she again?" Leon asked.

Mickey used the straw to stir the cold contents in his glass. "You see the one in the purple dress? She looks kind of Greek?"

"The one singing by the pole?"

"Yep," Mickey said. "That's her."

Leon picked up the program flyer sitting on the table and scanned the photographs there, matching them up to names. "Megara?"

The woman who was singing had a sharp face. She also had long, thick brown hair that fell all the way to her small waist. To Leon, she looked too skinny to be healthy, as if she drank too much vitamin water and could use a couple of milkshakes, but she sang as if she could murder someone with the weight of her deep, velvet voice.

"She got herself in debt chasing after some fellow who didn't have the same level of commitment. It was one of Pete's banks that she took the loan out of."

The woman put her hand on the pole and bent over backwards in a way that Leon had not considered to be physically possible.

"She's working for Pete to pay it off?" he asked.

"Both here at this joint and at the casino," Mickey said. "She knows her way around the place. She knows a lot of the people who work there, too, the caterers, the blackjack dealers, a couple of security guards…."

"What makes you think she's going to talk to us?" Leon asked.

"Because I just put fifty dollars into her garter and told her to go and give you a lapdance," Mickey said, taking a long slip from his raspberry slushie. "Bye."

Leon's reaction time was slow and by the time he looked, Mickey was gone and there was a woman making her way across the floor. If she had been a bullet fired from a gun, her path could not have been straighter. Her sandals were laced all the way up to her knees. Somehow, between the stage and his table, she had obtained a cigarette. She stood before him, hip jutted out and arm crossed over her waist, fingers resting on her elbow as she held the cigarette up to her face with two fingers. Smoke curled toward the ceiling like the soft ringlets framing her face.

"So, what'll it be?" she asked, her voice dry.

Leon did not say anything. She took the cigarette and snuffed it out on the ashtray in the middle of the table. She looked at him, her large, dark eyes looking him directly in the face, with one eyebrow cocked high and sarcastic into her brow.

Leon had stopped moving, remaining as still as a cat while this was happening. The warning bells inside of his head were banging like he had his own personal hunchback up there hammering away at them. He was debating whether or not to continue to look bored and take another drink from the bottle or possibly get up and walk away just as the woman's hand gave a final twist to the cigarette.

"You'd think you had body odor or something, the way that you're sitting out here all by yourself."

She teleported. That was the only way he could put it.

One moment, she was standing.

The next, she was straddling his lap, as casually as if she were hopping up onto a bar stool.

_I'll have a slice of brain-dead male brunette on the rocks._

"Haven't I seen you somewhere?" she asked, taking her hands and raking them through his brown hair, which had grown out quite a bit since the King had found him, enough to be properly raked by sharp, bony fingers. "Weren't you out doing time in the middle of the city?"

"I got out," Leon said, as she brought her face close to his, enough so that he could feel her hot breath on the back of his neck. "Good behavior."

"You don't seem like a good boy to me," Megara said. She leaned in, bringing one finger up to touch the spot between his eyes and run it along the rough, twisted skin of his scar. "Huh. This looks like it hurt."

"It did," Leon said, beneath her hand.

They could have just as easily been talking about golf, or something else equally dull and uninteresting. She took the bottle from his hand and set it down on the table.

"Some people are just a magnet for trouble, aren't they."

She looked at him, dead on, for such a brief second that Leon thought he had imagined it. He did not have time to dwell on it because he found she had taken his hands and placed them right on her hips.

"All right, then, Lonely-Boy, buckle your seatbelt," she said, sounding almost bored and methodical. "Keep your hands and arms inside the vehicle and enjoy the ride."

The King wanted him to do something, Leon thought, as she started to move her hips from side to side, painfully close to where all of his belts were buckled. Something very important.

"Your buddy back there sure seemed desperate to get someone over here to your lonesome little corner," she said as her hips continued to gyrate like she was cranking them with an egg beater. "Is he trying to jump start your engine or something?"

"Or something," Leon said.

Megara tossed her head from side to side, sending her thick, healthy hair sweeping over her shoulders so that he could catch a whiff of fruity shampoo.

"Strawberries," he said, almost proud.

"What was that?" Megara asked

"Nothing."

"Listen, I don't take any dirty talk from customers," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "Just because you think you can mutter with nobody hearing you."

She helped him place his hands all the proper places on her waist. He didn't have to think about it, just watch as she danced her way around him. The tails of the sash slung across her waist rippled like water. She had a stubborn curl of hair that seemed to be persistently draped over her face, which she would peak out from under when she glanced at his face.

"Would you mind if I spoke with you in private?" Leon asked, it being the first thing that popped into his head. He felt as if there was a clock, and it was ticking in his ear.

"Are you going to be just as boring?" she asked.

Leon tried to come up with a reply in time. _Well, ma'am, I—something-something, smart, chauvinistic, witty comeback—something._

"Well, that's it, we're all out of quarters," she said, tidying up her hair and straightening her skirt. She put her foot on Leon's knee and used him to balance against as she tightened up the laces to her sandals.

When she was finished, she turned on her heal and gave him a lazy, half salute that turned into a wave. "See you around."

He watched her go, letting her disappear into the crowd. He felt as if he had just dropped a bowling ball onto his foot.

It was late enough to be early in the morning when the club closed. Leon waited outside, under the acidic yellow streetlamps in the parking lot by the back door as he watched performers leave and scuttle to get to their cars. He had to wait almost a whole half hour more for a certain woman to slink out into the dark parking lot.

"Oh, it's you," she said, dismissively, barely looking at him. "You know, you could at least try and act a little less like a creep."

Leon stepped out from the shadow of the doorway.

"That was a really sad song that you were singing," he observed.

When Megara spoke to him, it was like she was recording a piece of narration that she did not particularly care about at all.

"Do you come here and critique all the girls?" she drawled. "Is that how you keep yourself happy all night over there in your little booth?"

It was not, but Leon did not feel the need to vocally defend himself.

"I was sent here to contact you about a position," he explained, not very well.

"I don't do private gigs," she said, not even trying to hide the disgust that tainted the last half of the sentence. "You loose. Thanks for playing."

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a package of cigarettes. Megara stopped walking. She looked over her shoulder and wordlessly reached into the carton to pull out a long, thin roll.

"Cute lighter," she said, looking at the lion profile engraved into the silver that matched his necklace. "Didn't expect a tough guy like you to be able to accessorize."

"Thanks."

He let her smoke for a few minutes in silence, the smell of the smoke and nicotine making his nostrils flare.

"So, what's this about the King being in town?" Megara asked as she continued to indulge. "Isn't this too ratty of a nest for him to be mousing around in?"

Leon was getting the sneaking suspicion that he had fallen into a very poor film noir.

"He's got some business to attend to," Leon replied. "Wants to do some gambling in the casino."

"Oh, really," Megara scoffed. "He doesn't strike me as the gambling type."

"He doesn't seem like that, until you get to know him."

Megara shook her head and turned her back to him, taking her cigarette and gesticulating with it as she spoke.

"So the height-depraved wonder returns to beat all the bad guys and the good guys welcome him with open arms," she raved. "Whoa boy, here comes the conquering hero. You know, they say he can bite bullets and shine light out his butt."

Leon considered. "…nothing of the sort. Not that I've seen, anyway."

Megara sighed and crossed her arms, twirling the cigarette between her thumb and first finger.

"Sounds like a suicidal glory trip," she said with a disgusted shudder. "Count me out, I don't do the whole hero thing.."

Leon twirled his silver lighter between his own fingers, tossing it up and snatching it out of the air before tucking it deep into his pocket.

"I don't assume that your reason for helping us will be to spread goodwill and happy sunshine rainbows to the people of the Hallow Bastian," Leon said, turning around to watch her start to sulk away. "I think you'll do it because of the cut you'll be getting out of it."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, white card. Meg paused, looking over her shoulder as he walked up and held the card in the tips of his fingers. Meg looked at it for a second, making Leon stand there in mid-step with his card in hand. She looked at him and then snatched it away with a crack.

She looked at it. Looked at him. Looked back down at the card.

"That's _seven_ zeroes," Leon emphasized.

She deliberately ripped open the zipper of her purse and tucked the card away inside. She took a deep breath and zipped it shut.

"Friends call me Meg," she said, sticking out her hand and giving Leon's a firm shake as she smiled. "You?"

"Leon. Leon Leonheart."

"Really?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Will you call me or I call you?"

"You'll know."

She left Leon alone with the scent of burning tobacco and one, flickering street lamp.

A small shadow stepped out from behind one of the parked cars, carrying bags of groceries and decked out in multi-colored flower leis.

"Well," Mickey said, sounding cheerful. "I think that went very well. You got her number?"

TO BE CONTINUED...


End file.
